The tinkle of the bell above the door of a small independently owned curiosity shop has a Pavlovian effect on me. I start salivating immediately. And the more I explore Utah, the more I find to salivate over. Utah has an amazing array of culturally diverse shops, festivals, events and other distractions. Been There, Done That is my forum for sharing with you some of the great places and/or events that I’ve discovered right here in Utah.

Salt Lake City Ghost Tour

Thursday night, I figured I’d crash at home, curl up on the couch and watch an episode of Fringe. But Clem had other plans.

As evening approached, I began to feel restless, so I headed for the Rio Grande station in Salt Lake City. I wasn’t the only one in search of adventure. A small group had gathered around a bus behind the building. The bus driver sidled up to me and asked me if I had bought a ticket. Much to my surprise I found that I had.

“I can’t believe people actually choose to do this,” he said to me. I pointed out that he was driving the bus.

“Yeah, but I’m staying safely inside it,” he replied.

I went into the station to use the restroom before boarding the bus. Old-fashioned sinks, circa 1910, were lined up in the center of the room. Facing each other on opposing walls were two massive mirrors. I dried my hands, smoothed back a few stray strands of hair, and adjusted the brim of my hat.

Wait! I’m not wearing a hat!

Another glance in the mirror showed me it was simply a fleeting reflection of something that had moved just beyond my range of vision.

I rejoined the group of intrepid explorers of the supernatural and boarded the bus. Our tour guide told us stories about the Alta Club, Hotel Victoria, the suicide saloon, and leaving a tribute at the end of the bar for the ghostly barkeep. But all of this seemed like only a precursor, an overture before the curtain went up. We tramped through Salt Lake City’s dark and haunted graveyard and heard the story of Lily Gray, and all the while, I could feel him just beyond the edge of existence, waiting impatiently.

When the bus made its way past the Marriott Library—where he had been known to pick-up a coed or two—and headed toward Fort Douglas, the impatience became mine. He was drawing me closer, and even though he had a reputation as an incorrigible ladies’ man—in both of his lives—I knew I would answer his call.

The bus gave a hydraulic hiss and lowered itself to the curb. I disembarked with the rest of the crowd, hurried up the wooden steps to the porch and paced the planks. He was nowhere to be seen. I walked around the corner and peered through the metal gates at the artillery guns. Not so much as an orb of ectoplasm. I lingered as long as I could, and finally joined the last of the stragglers as we boarded the bus.

Had I displeased him in someway? Had he sensed a shadow of doubt in my mind? My transcendental tryst was not to be.

By the time, the bus returned to the Rio Grande station, I the felt master of myself once more. I bade my fellow travelers farewell and headed back to hearth and home.